


Shields.

by wordsinthedark (VanScritto)



Series: Hidden. [2]
Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Angst and Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 22:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanScritto/pseuds/wordsinthedark
Summary: They don't talk about it. But that doesn't mean it isn't there, lurking in their minds.





	Shields.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zeraparker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeraparker/gifts), [lost_decade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/gifts).



> So, I am not really sure what came over me or how long it will last XD
> 
> But since we're all here and I can't seem to write any normal fiction at the moment, have some angst and porn that - as always - zeraparker inspires me to write. Also, lost_decade, just because.

They don't talk about it.

Not during the week they have off and are goofing around in the sun, not while André and Jev are in Paris _almost_ by themselves. Jev acts so normal around André that André is sure he must not remember what they did on the yacht. What _Jev_ did on the yacht. André has decided that he was not complicit in whatever went down, that Jev was the one who orchestrated it, who _wanted_ it — even if it was his drunk brain taking over and then deleting all the incriminating memories.

He's not sure if that makes it better or worse, though. Because André can't forget about what happened. It follows him around like a ghost, like a phantom touch on his dick every once in a while whenever Jev laughs too loud and draws André's attention. He can still taste the alcohol on Jev's tongue and he hates it so much, he brushes his teeth every time it happens. Even if it's the middle of the day.

André can't think about that now, though, because Le Mans is coming up and he has to concentrate on driving a car at exceptional speed around a track without killing himself or anyone else. And it's a damn good thing that, for Le Mans, Jev is on another team, far enough away from André that concentration isn't some elusive concept that slips through his fingers whenever Jev moves or does so much as breathe in André's direction.

Not that Jev cares. Boundaries are not for him, apparently, André muses only _half_ annoyed when he spots the tall man across the pit. Like a giraffe, he towers over the people next to him as he makes his way towards André, or maybe that's just André being so attuned to Jev's presence that he could find him in any crowd.

It's weird not wearing the same colors.

"How is everything?" Jev asks and hands André an iced coffee he didn't ask for.

"Hot," André says, and then adds, "temperature wise," because he feels the need to specify when Jev shoots him a grin.

"Saw the cars. You're such a rebel."

"They're pretty cool, I guess." André shrugs. When he first saw them, he thought someone had vandalized their machinery. He's getting used to the neon colors now, even if they're no match for the Techeetah gold. Gold is a regal color and for some reason, whenever he sees the cars, there's this warmth spreading in his chest and— Damn it, Jev ruined colors for him, too, now.

Jev laughs easily and falls into step beside André as they take in the atmosphere. It's the familiar smell of gasoline and used tyres that André misses sometimes when he drives for Formula E. This is why he got into racing in the first place — the sound makes him feel alive, the smell will mold itself onto his skin to evaporate for days after he's finished, reminding him of that adrenaline focus. Le Mans is a rush he craves and at the same time, it's the most content he'll feel all year. It's the reason he's still doing this, even though he knows they stand no chance against Toyota for first place.

Fuck, he wants a first place so bad.

Especially after Berlin.

 _Don't think about Berlin._ But he does now, of course, with Jev standing so close to him André can practically _feel_ him breathing and it reminds him of Jev's breath in his mouth, on his neck, seeping into his skin much the same as the scent of gasoline.

André's phone pings with a text. It's Takako telling him that she'll arrive Thursday evening before the race. The text is in French, adorably butchered because she's struggling with the _different spellings of the same word, why are there no particles like in Japanese?_ He can practically hear her annoyed sigh through the _Takako is typing_ info on the screen. The second text is in kanji saying exactly the same thing as the first and André snorts a laugh.

Jev glances at André's phone. "Thursday night? You guys want to catch dinner?"

"Sure." It comes out easier than it feels, but André tells himself it's going to be fine. It was fine in Paris, it'll be fine here, too. "Is Lorene coming?"

"Think so," Jev mumbles as André finishes a text to Takako. He's using French, just to egg her on and he doesn't have to wait long for the red-faced emoji to appear on his screen. He grins at his phone, waiting for a moment to see if there's anything else from her, but apparently she's busy copying his message into Google Translate for now. When he looks back at Jev, there's a shadow in his expression.

"Sorry, did you say something?" André is trying not to read too much into it, because Jev was _drunk_ , for fuck's sake, but his brain quite helpfully supplies André with the info that the last time Jev looked at him like that—

Jev shakes his head, as if confused himself, then grins again and takes a sip from his own drink.

"Ask her to bring some of those cherries, yeah?"

 

***

 

Traffic is a bitch.

André checks the app on his phone for the hundredth time, but there's a jam delaying everything for over two hours and counting, and if he doesn't eat anything within the next half hour, his schedule is going to be whack. Takako seems to take it all in stride; despite being promised a really wonderful meal she has no issues buying packed almonds from a gas station where they pulled off the road to wait for traffic to ease and sending André pictures of smiley faces that she makes out of them on the backseat of the car. He wonders if one of those pictures will end up on her Instagram or if they're too childish for her feed.

He's lounging on the couch in his motorhome, increasingly frustrated at the situation and wondering whether he should cancel the plans with Jev and just eat here, when there's a knock on the door.

"Come in," André grunts.

"No, open up, my hands are full." Jev. Of course, it's Jev.

André opens the door to see Jev carefully balancing a tower of white styrofoam containers in one hand and a cardboard cupholder in the other.

"Traffic is a bitch," Jev says. "Figured we'd eat anyway." André has the mind to at least step aside when Jev climbs into the motorhome and drops the containers on the side table. This is … _dangerous_ , with no girlfriends to hold up between them like shields it's just Jev and André, André and Jev, just _them_ and André doesn't quite know how to handle that.

"Lorene stuck, too?" he asks, just to make sure. Jev nods his head.

"But look," Jev says, beaming with pride, "I got your favorite."

Jev unpacks the styrofoam containers and places them around the table. The veggies and chicken are a far cry from the restaurant they had picked out for dinner, but it's still food and this stuff actually fits into both their diet plans unlike cheesy pasta and bread, so maybe that is a better idea anyway. André drops onto the couch next to Jev and grabs one of the containers.

His phone pings again with another photo from Takako. More almonds, interspersed with cherry pits and an embarrassed emoji added afterwards to the middle.

"Looks like your cherries won't survive the trip." André hands Jev his phone in order to fork a piece of chicken in his mouth. It doesn't occur to him that Jev could – or even _would_ – scroll upwards through the conversation to check the pictures before. It's all mundane shit anyway, and the last ten or so are almond based with one selfie of Takako putting on cherry earrings. Still, the way Jev's face changes, it's like he accidentally came upon André's porn collection.

"I guess not," he says. And then: "That's cute."

"She's bored," André finds himself saying as if he needs to explain why he's got a million texts from the woman he lives with on his phone. He's sure, if he were to check Jev's phone, there'd be tons of Lorene on it as well. At least his phone background is of his dog. Fuck. Why is he defending himself in his head like this? Jev's probably just tired. That look on his face doesn't mean anything.

Silence falls between them, the only sounds of them eating, scraping plastic cutlery over styrofoam or taking a sip from the drinks Jev brought. Jev has been oddly attentive, André realizes now, bringing him drinks or food or just coming to find him for a quick chat wherever. He's been so busy on Instagram, too, Le Mans is the height of the season for both of them. And yet, all that energy Jev displays on social media doesn't translate to the pensive version of him that's sitting next to André on the couch, knees spread so wide they almost touch André's.

"What's on your mind?" He pokes Jev's thigh with his fork, hoping it'll make Jev move _a bit_ to give him space, but it has the opposite effect. Jev turns and pulls his leg onto the couch to face André, crowding him even more into the cushions.

"You like her a lot, yes?"

The question surprises André, not because of the words but the tone is so … _inquisitive_ , as if that was a thought that Jev only recently had.

"Wouldn't have asked her to move in with me, if I didn't."

"You've lived with James before."

"I like him, too, I guess." It's a joke to lessen the tension that's suddenly risen between them. André's ears are ringing and he doesn't know why. He feels like he missed a part of the conversation somewhere along the lines and that reminds him of Berlin and Monaco where he also apparently missed all of the explanatory memos on _handjobs on yachts we never talk about again_.

"Like you like Takako?" Jev blinks. "Nevermind, it's a stupid question." He shakes his head, grabs André's now empty container and stacks all of them neatly into each other. This alone is a sign that something isn't right, because Jev can't be bothered to be neat in any part of his life, let alone when it comes to his trash.

"Can't you just ask the question you want to ask me? Then I could actually answer it, you know."

Jev sighs and it makes André feel like _he_ is the one who's being difficult right now. Frustration bubbles to the surface so suddenly, he can't stop it. "Or don't, you know. It's not like this is weird at all. To answer your question: Yes, I like Takako. She's my _girlfr—_."

"Did you fuck her?" Jev interrupts, without looking away from his trash pile. "After Berlin. Monaco, I mean. After … you know."

"I don't know, actually," André spits out just because he can, just because Jev was the one to do it and then flee and then not talk about it and— "Enlighten me."

"Forget it."

"No, I won't. Say it, asshole. Say it. _Out loud_. What happened in Monaco?" André's pretty sure he pushed too far. Jev gets up in a rush, shaking his head. "Or better yet, tell me this: Did _you_ fuck _Lorene_ after Monaco?"

"Yes." The answer is a thunder in the small space, Jev's eyes are lightning. For some reason, it's Jev that's pissed now, breathing hard like he just came from a run. "Yes, I did," he adds, his voice lower, "and I was thinking of you when I did it."

Whatever André had meant to say is stuck in his throat, his mouth still half-open to reply. Jev runs a hand through his hair, surely missing the former length of it now that he can't play with it for a calming effect, eyes roaming away from André and back, again and again, assessing the situation he created. André can't move and whatever Jev reads from that fuels more words coming out of him.

"Your face, your hands, your voice. Fuck, André, you were _everywhere_ that night. You've _been_ everywhere ever since and I've tried to make it go away, I've tried every fucking thing, but it doesn't work. You keep popping up. Do you have any idea how you _sound_ when—" Jev lets out an agonized groan and it would be heartbreaking if André hadn't spent the past weeks feeling like shit himself because of this, because of what _Jev_ did and didn't do and now he has the gall to come here and ask him, if …

"I don't," are somehow the words that wedge themselves from André's throat and they sound so calm compared to how he feels, "fuck Takako, that is. That's not something we do."

The chime of his phone cuts through the cords of tension that keep them afloat and André is glad for the distraction, glad to be changing focus because this new information is wearing him down and he can't deal with that before a race, before _Le Mans_ of all fucking races. It's Takako, of course, telling him they're getting back on the road now, coming to his rescue. It's what she does, it's why she's here, because she acts as the wall he can't put up around himself any longer. It's so exhausting, especially around Jev. André ponders over his reply and then realizes that she might be driving and can't read a reply anyway.

"You don't sleep together." Jev sounds disbelieving, the thunder drained from his person, breathing regular.

"No, we don't."

"Why not?"

"I figure that's obvious by now." André sighs and puts his phone away, still unable to look at Jev for fear of what he will find when he does.

"It's not. Say it. _Out loud._ " Jev mirrors André's tone from earlier, swaying closer to the couch, closer to André.

"Because … we're just not interested in each other that way. We're friends, partners. It's not really—"

"That's not the reason. Say it, that's not the reason." Jev's voice is begging.

It's André's turn to sigh again, really, this isn't the kind of conversation for today, or maybe _ever_ , but Jev takes another step towards the couch, towering over André so that, if he looked up, he'd be eye-level with Jev's crotch and isn't that the kind of position he's not supposed to be in?

"It's _one_ of the reasons, at least," André says. Jev drops down to his knees and suddenly his hands are on André's legs, rubbing up along his thighs, urging him on to _say it, please, say it_ and some devil possesses André, because he finds himself whispering, "Another one is you."

Jev curls his fingers against André's thighs, scratches the jean fabric covering his skin — no, _claws_ at the fabric it seems. André wants to stop it, but that would require for him to put his hands over Jev's and he can't handle that kind of contact, that _intimacy_ , right now. Instead, he puts his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands.

_Please, just leave._

But boundaries are not for Jev, of course, and neither is telepathy, so Jev stays where he is kneeling in front of André and stroking his thighs in an almost soothing rhythm.

"You're beautiful when you come undone," Jev whispers. "I've been thinking about it ever since, every day, about doing it again and again. Differently, slowly."

"Jev, don't," André warns, but his voice lacks any kind of power. They're back at it again, he realizes, with André knowing he should _do something_ in order to stop whatever is going to happen, protect himself and his heart, and Jev just ignoring all the cues. It's like Jev is in an alternate reality, where none of the normal rules apply and André knows, he _knows_ , this will end just as badly as the time before, but his head has already been fucked with and he doesn't really know why his body shouldn't be allowed to follow suit.

Then maybe they can race in peace this weekend.

He chances a look at Jev's face and he's so open, his eyes gleaming with something that might be hope, his lips moist as if he licked them repeatedly thinking about the things he wants to do _differently, slowly_. André opens his legs wider to make room and Jev takes it as the invitation it is, crawls closer, his hands wandering up André's thighs and to his hips.

"Once," André says, firmly. Jev nods, such an easy affirmation that it can only be a lie, but André doesn't care because his walls are down and Jev is touching him, and they're doing this. He reaches out with one hand to grab Jev's chin, stroke the stubble there to remind himself that this is real.

He moves only a fraction and Jev is on him, his lips crashing into André's, moaning into his mouth.

"Yes," Jev says between kisses, "yes, please." His hands already wander underneath the hem of André's shirt and he's leaning into André, pushing him backwards into the couch.

André has half a mind to just let it happen, let Jev's eagerness overtake him again, but _this is not a dream_ and if there's only this one time, like he promised himself, and there's no booze involved he really has no excuse to not make the most of it. He grabs a hold of the front of Jev's shirt, pushes against him for leverage. He has a hard time dragging his mouth from Jev's.

"Take this off," he says. "We're not doing this fully dressed." _Like last time._ Jev pulls back just long enough to take his own shirt off and he looks so wrecked already, cheeks flushed and lips red. _I want to fuck you_ , André thinks but doesn't say. Instead he adds: "And we're not doing this here."

He struggles to get up from the couch and walks towards the back of the motorhome, to the _bed_ , which is right and proper and _different_. Jev is right on his heels, his breath on André's neck, hands on his back. He barely manages to turn around to close the door behind them — just giving them a little more privacy — when Jev kisses him again. He presses his body to André's, their hips aligning and it makes André dizzy when he feels the bulge in the front of Jev's pants.

 _He wants this_ , is a surprising and strange thought in André's mind right before Jev pulls his shirt off and their bare skin is touching. It's already too much, the scratch of hair on André's skin, the sticky sweat of Jev's palms. But there's no stopping now, and he finds his own hands wandering over Jev's chest, down towards his stomach and further down to cup Jev's dick. The answer is a groan and Jev biting André's lip.

"You want me to suck you?" André asks. Not _I want to suck you, I want your taste in my mouth, embedded into my brain to remember forever, even after this is over and we return to reality_.

"Fuck, yes," Jev whispers. He seems aware of the thin walls of the motorhome, because he presses his lips together as he watches André undoing his belt and pushing his pants down. André takes his time, kissing Jev's chest on his way down and motioning for Jev to step out of his pants.

It's a sight to behold. Jev in nothing but his black boxer briefs that are tented by his erection, looking down on André kneeling before him. André leans in without breaking eye contact, rubbing his nose on Jev's hip bone, his hands pulling the cotton down just a bit to be able to press a kiss to the skin there. Jev's dick twitches.

"André, please," Jev begs, stroking André's hair, seemingly torn between petting him and pushing him into his crotch.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." André moves to mouth over the cotton on Jev's dick and for a second Jev seems to forget where they are because the sound that comes out of his mouth could wake the dead. "Shhh," André shushes. "Can't do this if you can't behave."

"I can behave," Jev says quickly and André can't help but laugh at the eagerness. As a reward — to both of them, really — he pulls the briefs down, freeing Jev's dick.

They've seen each other naked before, there isn't a whole lot of privacy in the paddock, after all. But never like this, never hard and leaking precome, and again, this is a moment when André has to remind himself that this is not a dream. He's allowed to touch and kiss and suck and lick and _taste_. All intentions of doing this _slowly_ go out the window and André licks Jev from the base to the tip, collecting the salty droplets that gather there.

Jev does stay remarkably quiet, the groan in his throat sounding almost painful. André does it again, watching Jev's reaction. And again, before he finally opens his mouth and sucks on the head.

"Fuck, André." Jev's voice is hoarse. André ducks his head, takes more of Jev's dick into his mouth. He's not going to manage all of Jev, he can already tell, but he goes down as far as he can. From above, he hears Jev groan.

With a soft suck, André lets go of Jev's dick. "You wanted to behave."

"I know." Jev's hands bat André's away from his dick, pushing on his shoulders roughly so André falls backwards only catching his weight on his hands and untangling his legs. "Not happening today."

Then Jev is kneeling, too, kissing André's mouth, tongue teasing his lips while his hands are busy pawing at André's pants. He accidentally touches André's dick and it sends a shiver through him every time. _This is happening_ , André's brain tells him as the sound of his zipper rings loud in his ears and then his pants and his boxers are off in one go, Jev leaning in and pushing André to lie flat on his back.

On the floor.

"There's a bed right there," André mumbles against Jev's mouth as Jev wrestles himself between André's legs.

"Don't care about the bed. Just you." It's an oddly romantic sentiment that André chooses not to dwell on as Jev presses their hips together and alines their dicks and, _fuck_ , André agrees that the bed really isn't that important after all. Jev's dick is slick against his own, and Jev leans down, creating friction between them as he starts to move. _I want to fuck you_ , André thinks again and this is pretty close to that, close enough, and it feels like Jev might be thinking the same thing.

André presses his mouth to Jev's, one hand behind Jev's neck and the other on his ass, urging him on to move faster and harder. He can feel Jev's moans more than he hears them, the curses dropping out of his mouth on every breath, a litany of _fuck, yes, please_ and _you feel so good_ and _more_. He's so close to coming that words escape him, his senses overwhelmed with Jev's body covering his own and he's trying to commit the feel, the smells, the sounds to his memory.

"I'm gonna come," Jev whispers, suddenly very clear, pushing a hand between them to wrap around André's dick and increase the pressure, even if it's not necessary because André is coming at that moment, breath knocked out of him. Jev squeezes his dick, which only serves to prolong the experience and then shudders above him, slowing down his movements but still spreading their cum on their skin.

André lies still, the only movement his fingers on Jev's neck, stroking tentatively as they breathe into each other's mouths. Jev pulls his hand from between their bodies, reaching up and there's the milky evidence of what they've just done. He puts two fingers into his mouth and sighs — fucking _sighs_ — at the taste of them. And here André thought he was the deprived one, the one whose fantasies needed to stay in check because they were _too much_ for someone else. But Jev is licking his hand and then kissing him, pushing their cum into André's mouth, stroking his hair and undoubtedly leaving traces of them there, too.

He doesn't want to move, but they have to, a ping from André's phone serving as the unwelcome reminder.

It's a text from Takako, telling him they're ten minutes away.

Reality coming to get them, ready to put up the wall again.

André is going to need it.


End file.
